Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring.

The Lark sitting upon his earthy bed, just as the morn

Appears, listens silent; then springing from the waving

Cornfield, loud.

He leads the Choir of Day: trill, trill, trill, trill,

Mounting upon the wings of light into the Great Expanse,

Reechoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell,

His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather

On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine.

All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun

Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird

With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe,

Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song:

The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren

Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain.

The Nightingale again assays his song, thro’ the day

And thro’ the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird of Song

Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love…

William Blake, from Milton